In this respect, my Lord, you see
The Roman wag and ours agree:
Now as to _your_ resemblance--mum--
This parallel we need not follow:
Tho' 'tis, in Ireland, said by some
Your Lordship beats TIBERIUS hollow;
Whips, chains--but these are things too serious
For me to mention or discuss;
Whene'er your Lordship acts TIBERIUS,
PHIL. FUDGE'S part is _Tacitus_!
_September 2_.
Was thinking, had Lord SIDMOUTH got
Any good decent sort of Plot
Against the winter-time--if not,
Alas, alas, our ruin's fated;
All done up and _spiflicated_!
Ministers and all their vassals,
Down from CASTLEREAGH to CASTLES,--
Unless we can kick up a riot,
Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet!
What's to be done?--Spa-Fields was clever;
But even _that_ brought gibes and mockings
Upon our heads--so, _mem._--must never
Keep ammunition in old stockings;
For fear some wag should in his curst head
Take it to say our force was _worsted.
Mem._ too--when SID an army raises,
It must not be "_incog._" like _Bayes's_:
Nor must the General be a hobbling
Professor of the art of cobbling;
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns,
Should say, with Jacobinic grin,
He felt, from _soleing Wellingtons_,[9]
A _Wellington's_ great _soul_ within!
Nor must an old Apothecary
Go take the Tower, for lack of pence,
With (what these wags would call, so merry,)
_Physical_ force and _phial_-ence!
No--no--our Plot, my Lord, must be
Next time contrived more skilfully.
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